Twenty-six items from Special Collections (c)

Bibliography: The Poetry of Guido Cavalcanti, edited and translated by Lowry Nelson, Jr. (Garland Publishing, 1986). For some reason, this particular translation is hard to get. If you look at it, it doesn't look like anything special, but a lot of Garland items are like that. I have a copy of Medieval Literature of Poland: An Anthology (Garland, 1992), which friends bought for me for my forty-fifth birthday—$75. These are books that look like they should be fifteen bucks at Powell's. Anyway, the Nelson translation is by far my favorite (cf. Pound 1912, Cirigliano 1992, West 2009), because Nelson retains the rhythm and doesn't disturb the content. The poem was written around the year 1280.

Ballata

I was deep in thought about love when I metTwo young little country girls.One of them was singing: "It is raining Joy of love in us."

The sight of them was so pleasantAnd so calm, courteous, and benevolent That I told them: "You have the keyOf every high and noble virtue. Ah, little country girls, don't think me baseFor the wound that I bear;This heart of mine was killedFrom the time I was in Toulouse." They turned with their eyes just enoughTo see how my heart was wounded And how a little spirit born of tearsHad come out through the wound. When they saw me so dismayedOne of them laughed and said:"Look how the violence of LoveHas laid him low!" The other one, pitying, full of mercy,Transformed by joy into a figure of love, Said: "Your wound, that can be seen over your heart,Was drawn by eyes of overwhelming strength Which left within a radianceSuch that I cannot look at it.Tell me if you canRemember those eyes." To the hard and fearsome questionThat the little country girl put to me I replied: "I am reminded that in ToulouseA lady appeared to me, tightly laced, Whom Love called L'Amandeta;She arrived so briskly and forcefullyThat her eyes struck me,Deep within, to death."

The one who had first laughed at meAnswered me with great courtesy. She said: "The lady who, with love's violence,Set all her sights on your heart, Looked inside you through the eyes so intentlyThat she made Love appear.If suffering is burdensome for youAddress yourself to him." Go off to Toulouse, my little ballad,And quietly enter La Dourade, And there request that you be brought,By courtesy of some lovely lady, Before her for whose sake I've bidden you,And if she receives you,Tell her in a soft voice:"For mercy I come to you."

Comment: Cavalcanti was not the original miglior fabbro—that was Arnaut Daniel. Just the same, Ezra Pound was obsessed with Cavalcanti for most of his life: Englished a bunch of stuff + Canto XXXVI is a translation of a famous Cavalcanti piece ("Donna me prega..."). Meanwhile, Eliot filched the beginning of a Cavalcanti ballad ("Perch'i' no spero di tornar giammai...") for the opening line of "Ash Wednesday" ("Because I do not hope to turn again"), which was itself spoofed by Nabokov at the end of Lolita ("Because you took advantage of a sinner / because you took advantage / because you took," and so on). ¶ Meanwhile, years ago, Kiki Petrosino and I were exchanging notes about poets from Dante's circle, and when I mentioned worshiping the piece that begins "It is raining joy of love in us," Kiki's memorable response was: BWAHAHAHA.

All through January, February, and March of 2016, I'll be posting more or less exotic items here, every Monday and Thursday. That comes to twenty-six exhibits, so I'm labeling them 'A' through 'Z'. Almost all this material is foreign or old or (mostly) both. I'm hoping to expose readers of Jacket2 to stimulating things they've never seen before.

¶ For years I told my students every literary person ought to accumulate (over the course of, say, twenty years) his or her own Palgrave's Golden Treasury. I wanted people to actually keep detailed lists and, if possible, privately print the relevant materials "for subscribers only." Imagine reading Anne Carson's Golden Treasury. Or Guy Davenport's. Anyhow I mention this because all of the items I'll be posting are from my Golden Treasury.

¶ Every posting will begin with a bibliography. This is for the benefit of the bookhounds out there, who might like to order the original, beautiful, first-edition, smoke-smelling, water-damaged hardcovers, online. Also I'll throw down a few brief observations about the poems, if I have any.

ANTHONYMADRID lives in Chicago. His poems have appeared in Best American Poetry 2013, Boston Review, Fence, Harvard Review, Lana Turner, LIT, and Poetry. His first book is called I Am Your Slave Now Do What I Say (Canarium Books, 2012).